


Not Wrong

by galaxbee



Series: Little Dragon Age Fics [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Developmental hip dysplasia is a jerk later in life is what I'm saying, Enough so that fighting dragons would suck, Physical Disability, Sort of? - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxbee/pseuds/galaxbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor, loathe as he was to admit it, would likely always present the most trialing issue in regards to the amount of time he spent walking. It wasn't his fault, of course. But the problems accompanying being born with bad joints took their toll on the rogue. And they made themselves known at an incredibly inopportune moment, in his honest opinion. He hadn't even been walking much that day! Wait, had he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Wrong

The Inquisitor, to one of his regrets, spent most of his time running. He kept a constant pace that his companions found easy to keep up with, and they didn't tire unless they found danger on their journey to explore Thedas. Which they did, quite frequently. However, any lethargy or fatigue was easily countered by a brief rest, where they could chat, eat, and relax for a time before continuing.

Of course, such a pace could not be maintained without some form of trial. And the Inquisitor, loathe as he was to admit it, would likely always present the most trialing issue. It wasn't his fault, of course. But the problems accompanying being born with bad joints took their toll on the rogue. And they made themselves known at an incredibly inopportune moment, in his honest opinion. He hadn't even been walking much that day! Wait, had he?

“Nothing like killing a dragon to get the blood racing, right, boss?” The Iron Bull gave a roaring laugh at the statement, grinning at the sight of the massive corpse in front of him.

“I can't say that you're entirely wrong,” the Inquisitor admitted, leaning heavily on a piece of rubble that had been scattered by the dragon's thrashing. 

His left hip throbbed, reminding him of the damage he had done to it while evading one of the dragon's claws. The twisting motion had damaged something, though he couldn't be sure without magical examination. Using magic he didn't possess. Resigning himself to his fate, he corrected his posture, uncorking a healing potion and feeling it relieve the ache of the muscle and tendons, but not do much in the way of repairing whatever damage had been caused.

He took a step closer to the fallen beast, pulling out one of his knives to begin harvesting what he could for the Inquisition's scouts and helpers to gather up later.

“Dirty work,” Dorian commented as he walked over to the Inquisitor, “I would offer you help, but knives aren't really my area of expertise. Instead, I shall provide you with enthusiastic and detailed encouragements.”

“Thanks, Dorian,” the Inquisitor replied dryly, standing up and wincing slightly. He looked at the shadow he created on the ground, quickly (but not painlessly) reducing how lopsided he looked before giving a groan of complaint.

“I take it that you agree that it is much too early to be feeling so tired,” Dorian commented in slight amusement, before searching their immediate surroundings with his gaze. “Where did Cole get to? I half expected him to begin asking me about my tragic past again, now that the dragon is no longer taking up his attention.”

The Inquisitor started as he realised that, no, he couldn't see Cole either, and hadn't since the spirit had struck at a limb that had been close to hitting him. As he did so, however, he pulled at his already injured hip, causing a flare of agony to burst along his side, destabilising him. As suddenly as it had occurred, Cole was supporting his weight as the Inquisitor half-crumpled in pain.

“You ‘right there, boss?” The Iron Bull asked, concerned, as he moved over to the pair. The Inquisitor gave a nod at the same time Cole said a firm “No”, and Dorian raised an eyebrow at the stubborn man. 

The Inquisitor tested his weight before abandoning the idea as his hip seemed to shift in its socket, a stomach-turning sensation that he did not trust in the slightest.

“... Maybe not. Carry me back to camp?” he asked The Iron Bull, who gave an amused huff and pick him up bridal style.

“Would you mind terribly letting us know about any injuries before you collapse?” Dorian asked off-handedly, the tone making it obvious that it wasn't really a question.

“A shifting, twinging pain, a constant ache that never repairs or rests. He was embarrassed, because no one else seemed to have any problems,” Cole commented.

“Thanks, Cole,” the Inquisitor said dully. At least the comment wasn't regarding anything more embarrassing than the noting of his embarrassment.

“I'm sure our darling Vivienne can come up with something to help,” Dorian noted, “and I definitely recall seeing a book on soothing old injuries somewhere.”

At seeing the Inquisitor’s shocked but appreciative expression, the Iron Bull laughed before adding, “We need you in prime condition, boss; these dragons aren't going to kill themselves!”

Again, the Inquisitor couldn't say that the larger man was entirely wrong.


End file.
